


To See You Smile

by gray_autumn_sky



Series: Set in 4B [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-19 00:23:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9409115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gray_autumn_sky/pseuds/gray_autumn_sky
Summary: A canon divergence set at the time that Robin was in NY with "Marian."Instead of deleting her phone number, Robin accidentally calls Regina.





	

It was their little secret—and it was proving to be their salvation.

They’d said they wouldn’t have any contact—that it would a clean break, that it would be forever. But there were some things that were easier said than done; and though they had the best of intentions on that chilly fall day when she’d urged him to cross the town line and start a new life with his wife and son, the pain of their separation wasn’t one that eased with time. As the days  turned to weeks he started to wonder if they’d both been waiting for the same thing, waiting for the other to say they couldn’t go through with it, that they’d find another way—but neither had had the courage.

The first time it happened, it happened by mistake. After weeks of arguing about it, he’d conceded to delete Regina’s contact information from his phone—though deleting the number had no meaning, it was a mere appeasement. But as he sat there with his finger hovering over the delete button, his eyes had closed and when he pressed his finger to the screen, he pressed call instead.

Tears welled in his eyes as her voice called his name, her voice sounding so beautiful and sweet—though it piqued with mild alarm and disbelief—seemed musical, and he couldn’t bear to hang up. That night they spent hours on the phone, talking about everything and nothing--and, it wasn’t until the sun was coming up, he realized it had to end. A lump rose into his throat as she said good bye, her voice hitching as she stopped just short of saying more. When the line went silent and the phone fell away from his ear, he felt a hollowness in chest—an ache that only worsened until finally he called her again.

After the third time, they’d dropped all pretenses and when the phone call ended, they agreed it would happen again—and it did, again and again and again. The calls continued for weeks. Sometimes they were planned and other times they happened on a whim. Sometimes, they had long conversations detailing their days, offering musings and advice and updates on their sons’ lives; they traded grocery lists and other mundane pieces of their daily lives in an effort to make the other feel as though they were still a part of it. Other times their conversations were shorter because sometimes there was something they just couldn’t tell, things that just couldn’t wait until they could carve out time for a proper conversation. On rare occasions, they left each other voicemails—voicemails to share as passing thought or ask a question or sometimes, just to hear the other’s voice.

It had been on one of those voice mails he’d first told her that he loved her—and then promptly apologized for having blurted it out so unceremoniously. He’d gone through the day wondering if she’d listened to the message, imagining her face when she heard the words, hoping they’d make her smile. That evening, she’d called him back and the first thing she’d told him is that she loved him too; and when he tried again to apologize for just blurting it out the way that he did, she’d cut him off and told him she was glad he’d done it in a way that let her listen to it again and again, whenever she needed to hear it.

“What are you doing?” She’d asked in a curious tone, as he jogged across the crowded street. “You sound like you’re out of breath.”

“Just trying not to get hit by a bloody cab,” he’d replied with a soft chuckle. “I’m almost to the park.”

“Then we can have an actual conversation?”

“Yes,” he agreed in a sincere voice, “A real conversation that’s not over shadowed by the obscene volume of this godforsaken city.” She laughed and a smile pulled onto his lips—of all the things he missed about her, he missed her smile the most. He missed watching the way it would reluctantly tug up from the corners of her mouth, how she’d momentarily look away and the way her eyes would shine when she looked back at him. “I miss that smile,” he’d murmured almost absently as he rounded a corner.

“How did you know I was smiling?”

“I just… could hear it in your voice, I guess.”

“Oh…” Her voice halted and again, he could sense her smile widening, slowly stretching her lips until they parted and that glint of excitement shined in her eyes. “Robin, are you… near a library?”

“I… could be,” he replied, as he slowed his pace, looking around at building that towered around him. “Do I need to be?”

“Yes,” she said decisively.

He didn’t question it; he simply turned in the opposite direction, looking around himself to gain his bearings—and then, when he’d figured out where he was, he headed in the direction of the library he often took Roland to. She wouldn’t tell him why she wanted him to go to the library, but her voice was giddy and he could hear her typing, all the while making small talk about a coming snow storm that appeared on the Doppler.  When he reached the library, she directed him to the second floor—and when he saw the pods of computers, he felt a pang of guilt strike his core.

“I hate to break this to you and ruin whatever plan you’re concocting, but… I don’t know how to use these… things.”

“I do.”

“Yes, but you’re not here.”

He could practically feel her eyes rolling as she sighed. She didn’t offer him much of an explanation as she instructed him to sit down at a computer. She helped him to log in with Roland’s library card and then navigated him through the internet, getting him to the place she wanted him to be—and all the while, he was at a complete loss.

“Okay, just one more thing and then we’ll be set.”

“Regina, I don’t know what I’m even looking at.”

“Do you see the sign in button It’s a… blue and white oval that says… sign in.”

He scanned the page, locating it at the top. “Yes.”

“Click that.”

“Okay,” he murmured slowly as he dragged the cursor to the top, concentrating as he clicked. “It’s asking for…”

“Your Skype name.”

“I don’t have a Skype name,” he said in a confident voice. “I _know_ I don’t have one… because I don’t know what that is.”

“You do now.”

“What?”

She sighed as she explained how to log in and she waited impatiently as his fingers pecked at the keys—and as soon as he was done typing one thing, she told him what to type next. His brow furrowed as he looked up at the screen, hitting the enter button just as she said—and then, there she was.

His breath caught in his throat and his tears were instant—and he watched that beautiful smile pull across her face.

“Hi,” she said as she hung up the phone and waved at the screen. He felt a rush of emotion—she was there, face-to-face with him and seemingly close enough to touch. For a moment, he was at a loss, overwhelmed and able to do little more than stare in disbelief. “Aren’t you going to say something?”

He laughed a little, swallowing hard as he found voice. “Hi,” he murmured back as he settled into his chair and waved.


End file.
